Writing

One Writer’s Writing Secrets 5: Don’t just write what you know: reflect.

M G Kizzia 2 Comments

            My father was a very good New York writer and the editor of several magazines over his working life.  He first started seriously typing for a railroad brigade in the war, making the trip from England to Normandy in the twenty-first (or something) wave.  (And he could type a gazillion words per minute on his old Royal, a manual no less).

            After J-School at Northwestern, he was tapped to edit Railway Age.  He did a brief stint at American Builder before he ended up editing Banking Magazine (The Journal of the American Bankers Association) and he wrote the Bank Director’s Briefing (newsletter) for years.

            I am sorry to say, he passed away a year ago; but to be sure, he went pretty far for a po’ Arkansas boy.  To be honest, he never got the Arkansas completely out of his system.  (I even have some of it in me too, and I can’t he’p it).  I understand that when the family heard on the radio that the Martians were invading New Jersey, they did not know whether to be scared or cheer!  I think that was a bit of southern versus northern thinking, and yet I was raised in Jersey, and my dad commuted everyday on the Erie Lackawanna and PATH to New York City.  (No wonder I so often feel conflicted).

            For my Dad, those small town Arkansas roots were an advantage in his work.  He could speak to railroad workers and later to bankers all across the country in a language they could understand as opposed to the language of a brash, elitist New Yorker who wouldn’t know how to call a hog on a bet. 

            At his funeral, I thought briefly of his mother, my Gram.  I remembered when I was young, how she insisted that I put on my shoes to walk the two blocks to town because she was not going to have her neighbors think that she could not afford to buy shoes for her grandchild.  And a picture flashed briefly through my mind of:

            A young boy, barefoot under the hot Arkansas sun, climbing a tree to pick peaches at so many pennies per box, eating a few along the way before bringing his box in for his reward – a coke into which one of those pennies went to see if it would really dissolve.  He watched the shoes at the rail yard while he sat in the cool shade of the station house.  That was what they were to him.  The people attached were of no consequence.  They were shoes that shuffled along between the tracks and loaded the boxes of peaches for transport all over the nation.  They were shoes, immune to briars and prickles and hot pavement alike.  And after a while, he would go home, with his coke and half-eaten penny, and all of the other pennies he had carefully saved.  Gram and Grandad would need them.  The depression, you know.  It was hard on everyone back then, and I know the certainty of that because by the time I was born, my Dad could not have cared less if he never saw another peach in his life.

Writing Tip 5:

You have heard it said, write what you know.  I would rather say, write what you reflect.  I was convinced for years that my upbringing in a typical New York suburb was of no account and boring, like a million, billion other kids in my generation.  It was only when I got older and began to reflect on the people around me and the particular experiences I have had in my life that I began to discover gold.

Series: Tales of the Other Earth Tale: Halloween Story part 12 M/F Story

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

            Back in the gym, the couch and the dolls tried to tune out their tormentor and focus on the dancing crowd.  A bride was dancing with a caveman.  Raggedy Ann overheard the caveman’s “Duh,” of delight and she also heard the Roman Senator’s response; that it was the most intelligent word Bart had ever spoken.  She noticed the Senator’s dance partner was her fellow seventh grader, Gerry, dressed as a flapper from the roaring twenties.

            “I suppose she is a real flapper now instead of her usual wall flower.”  Raggedy Ann mumbled through her sewn mouth.  “Probably loves to dance.”

            “They all look like they are having fun.”  Barbie said.  Barbie was an eighth grader and she did not know these particular kids, now grown-ups, but she was fascinated with the racecar driver circling the ballerina.  “I think they are all dancers.”  Barbie said.  She was getting good at interpreting Raggedy Ann’s mumbles.

            The couch potato had his eyes on Dorothy from Kansas dancing with a robot.  He was pretty sure Dorothy was his fellow seventh grader Rita, and he was wondering what it would take to short-circuit the robot.  Rita, that is, Dorothy looked like she was having way too much fun and not in any hurry to get back to Kansas.

                                                            ———-

            Two Truscan soldiers started down the hall beside the auditorium, headed for the gym.  “The Queen wants the door to the party room watched to be sure the children stay in and the Princess does not slip passed the others.”  One guard was explaining to his fellow as they walked the hall.  The other was just nodding as they came around the corner.

            “Halt.”  The voice was a deep, reverberating bass, which got the guard’s attention and caused them to stop.  “You are not permitted in this hall.  You and your other soldiers will be dealt with soon enough.”

            “What the?”  The soldiers gasped.  They had to look up to take in this man who was strangely armored in Roman style chain mail and a space helmet.  One soldier was ready to turn around, not at all liking what he saw – the man was big – but the other drew his sword, so the first man drew his sword as well.  They were both pointing their swords up at a ready angle.

            “There is only one.”  The first soldier assured his comrade.  “He looks unarmed.  We should be able to take him easily enough.”   The other nodded, again.

            The Space Gladiator said nothing.  He pulled his laser knife and it glowed red and gave off the slight, characteristic whistle associated with the weapon.  It was the Gladiator who took two steps forward while the Truscan soldiers stared and gaped.  One sweep of the laser knife, which started in slow motion before going faster than the eye could follow, and both Truscan swords were sliced off near the hilt.  The metal clanged loudly on the hallway floor before resting at the soldier’s feet.  The soldiers ran, and the Gladiator put his laser knife away and dutifully returned to his post.

            “Hit ‘em again.  Hit ‘em again.  Harder!  Harder!  Yeaaaa, Space Gladiator!”  Cheerleader Tasha leapt and shook her pom-poms with true conviction.

                                                            ————

            “Who is the fat Viking lady?”  The Barbie asked.  The woman was hanging around the refreshments table.

            Raggedy Ann shrugged, she could do that, but then she had to grab on to her seat to keep from falling over on to her side.

            “Olga Svenson.”  The couch potato said.  “She’s new.  I have her in math and science classes.”

            “Well, tell her to sing.  I want this nightmare to be over.”  Barbie quipped and Raggedy Ann and the couch laughed, though neither one was an opera fan, so they did not really understand what they were laughing about.  Then Barbie groaned and the others joined her.  Supermodel Kylie was finished walking her run out to the basketball foul line, modeling her clothes like a true runway model, and she was returning and explaining things all over again, starting with the burgundy shoes.  She picked up the dolls and plopped back down on the couch.  The couch responded.

            “Oof!”

                                                            ————

            There was a definite squeak-squeak of rusty chains as the swings out beyond the west door were getting a workout.  Miraz briefly wondered if he could get high enough to go all of the way around.

                                                            ————

“Colonel Nate.  Yoo-who!”   The southern belle was calling.

            “Karen, my dear.”  The Colonel with the long gray beard responded as he shuffled over.  “You are looking mighty lovely this evening.”

            “Kind of you to say.”  Karen looked down, shyly and curtsied ever so slightly, her hoop skirts touching the ground with a subtle grace while the Colonel tipped his hat.

            “And I declare there cannot be a lovelier dress in all of Georgia this evening.”  The Colonel was not finished with the compliments.

            “Why, this old thing?  Karen said in perfect seriousness.  “Fiddle-dee-dee.”

            “Now, mam.”  The Colonel got a sharp look in his eyes.  “I hardly qualify for Rhett Butler.”  He stroked his gray beard before pulling out his flask.

            Karen opened her fan and hid her face for a moment to hide her rosy cheeks.  She was hot and having a terrible time trying to breathe.  She might have sat down, but she knew the hoops in her skirts would not let her. 

            “Care for a sip.”  The Colonel held out his flask.  “December and the frost of winter is just a short month away, y’all understand.”

            “Why, Sirrah.  I would be most pleased, but I beg you to think no less of me as a lady if I do.”

            “I could never think so.”

            The southern belle took a sip.  “You are so kind.”  She spoke with a harsh voice like one finding it hard to swallow.  “Smoothe.”  She added.

            “To your health.”  The Colonel said, taking a long swig.  It was real Kentucky Bourbon, and despite their being all grown up, neither had tasted the like before.  The Colonel managed to screw the lid back on before breaking out in a hacking cough.  Karen patted him once or twice on the back.  Then the Colonel pulled out a cigar, but immediately, a firefighter, a woman hefting a rather large axe, came trotting up.

            “Don’t you dare light that.”  She threatened.

            The Colonel stuck the cigar unlit in his jaw while he gave the firefighter a dirty look.  He held out his hands for his partner.  “Would my Georgia Peach care to dance.”

            “Truly, sirrah, I have kept my dance card empty awaiting your pleasure.”

            They could not start dancing right away, though, because Babette, the French maid chose that moment to run by on those terrible spike high heels, screaming and waving her feather duster high in the air, making her super-mini skirt almost non-existent.

Series: Tales of the Other Earth Tale: Halloween Story part 11 M/F Story

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

            “Now, if youse will all be good, Rapper Bob will make with the music.”  Owen the gangster spoke into the microphone while half the party left for the cafeteria.   “And I don’t want any trouble out of any of youse guys.  Got it?  So maybe Celeste will sing something later.”  The listening crowd cheered at the idea of having a real rock star sing at their party.

            “Oh Owen, you’re so commanding.”  Terry of the long nails and too short skirt and dumb blond attitude spoke as the music started, and she sat in Owen’s lap as he sat and nodded his head like she was speaking his tune.

            “You’re a good moll.”  He said.  “Every gangster needs a moll.”

            “And you’re my pumpkin wumpkin.”  Terry said, tweaking Owen’s nose.

            “And I think I’m gonna throw up.”  Celeste said, looking at Bob, but Bob had his headphones on against the music and was not paying attention, and Kyle, dressed like a pimp, was not to be found.  Celeste wondered for a minute what that sex fiend might be up to, but she soon shrugged it off and got into the music.

                                                            ————

            Pimp Kyle slid up to his intended tricks.  Once, they had been seventh grade wannabes, Anna, Lisa and Elizabeth.  Now, they found themselves as Cleopatra, Babette, the French maid, and a pregnant nun.  “Ladies.”  That was all Kyle had to say.  The look in his eyes said the rest.  The women scattered and ran for their lives, Cleopatra trying not to trip over or fall out of her long white dress, Babette shrieking and waving her feather duster like a weapon as she struggled to run in her extra high heels, and Elizabeth praying to Mary, the Mother of God.

            “And I’m not even Catholic!”  Elizabeth confessed.

            Kyle shrugged, tilted his hat forward, spun his cane once and swaggered off in their general direction.

                                                            ————

            “Thank goodness this couch was here.”  Raggedy Ann said as she fought to pull herself up.

            “What?”  The voice came from above.

            “I said.”  Raggedy Ann started to repeat herself, but then she got a look at the speaker.  It was Barbie, small and plastic, but at least the arms and legs were bendable.  “I said you try talking with your mouth sewn shut!”

            “Me?”  Barbie responded in a very un-Barbie like fashion.  “I’m made of plastic!”

            “At least you can stand.”  Raggedy Ann said as she fell on the couch cushion face down.  It was going to take some effort to turn face up and she only hoped she did not slide down to the floor again. 

            “Not hardly.”  Barbie said.  “Look.”  Her arms and legs went up and down, but she could not bend at the elbows or knees.  Of course, Raggedy Ann could not look, being face down, and she said so.  Barbie’s response was even sharper.  It appeared to be the beginning of a good brawl, when the couch interrupted them.

            “Quiet!”  The couch commanded.  “I don’t mind you sitting on me, but I don’t need to hear about your troubles.  I was going to come as a Hell’s Angels, but no!  At the last minute I decided to be a couch potato.”

            “Oh, I see.”  The girls both spoke together as they noticed the potato with a face attached to the top of the couch.

            “Oh, no!  Please no!”  Barbie shouted suddenly.

            “What?”  The others wondered and then they saw Super Model Kylie approaching.  The woman was nearly six feet tall and could not have weighed a hundred pounds.

            “There you are.”  Kylie said, shaking out her luxurious hair as if posing for a camera.  “Do you like my shoes?  They are Armani, a rich burgundy I matched with my Aigner bag and my luscious lips.”  She posed with a kiss puckered on her lips.

            “This will go on without end.”  Barbie shuddered.

            “Please, no!”  Raggedy Ann begged as Kylie sat between the dolls and picked them up as if they were real dolls while explaining all about her outfit and the designers that made each piece.

            “Ooof!” was what the couch said, a hundred pounds or not.

                                                            ————

            Life was quiet in room 204.  Five horrors, all boys, were scribbling on the blackboards and rummaging through the teacher’s desk while the devil girl and the skeleton girl sat with the axe-headed zombie and the dead lawyer and lamented their fate.  The two ghosts had already slipped off to the closet.

            “They’ve forgotten us.”  The skeleton insisted.

            “They wouldn’t.”  The lawyer responded. 

            The devil girl sat with her elbows on the desk and her chin resting in her hands.  She glanced up.  “It’s been over an hour.  They sound like they are having fun without us.”

            There was a bang from inside the closet.  “Kate and Winslow are having fun.”  The skeleton said.

            “Winslow’s gay.”  The devil girl said grumpily.

            “Doesn’t sound gay to me.”  The lawyer responded with a grin on his face.

            “You know what I mean.”

            “Hey!”  The grim reaper interrupted.  “A deck of cards.”  Scream and the demon both looked up, and the demon smiled.

                                                            ————

            “I want you two here on the west door.”  Captain Tor scowled at his men.

            “Sir!”  Opas and Miraz responded in their best military fashion, which was not very good.  The Captain’s scowl deepened as he looked out over the playground area.

            “Not much chance of the Queen Arosa coming this way, but the Queen Regent wants all the doorways guarded just in case.  I assume you two can handle this assignment.”

            “Yes sir.”  They said.  “But sir.”  Opas interrupted.  “What if we get hungry, or maybe thirsty?”

            Captain Tor put his head in his hands.  “Just don’t leave the door unguarded.  Keep the children in and keep your eyes open for the Queen.”

            “Yes sir.”  Miraz spoke.  “But sir, how will we recognize her, Queen Arosa I mean?”

            Captain Tor shook his head.  “Tell you what, just arrest any woman trying to get in.”

            “Yes sir.”  Both men said.  “But sir.”  Opas started again, but the Captain was not listening.  He had already gone back inside.

            “So, it’s you and me again.”  Miraz said.  “Eh!  Where are you going?”

            “Come on.”  Opas encouraged his fellow.  “I’m going to sit on one of these swinging things.  We can watch the door better and be in the shadows, if you know what I mean.”

            “Ohhh.”  Understanding dawned slowly on Miraz’ face.  “Catch them by surprise-like.  Very clever.”

                                                            ————

            In the Cafeteria, newly dubbed the war room, the people came to agreement.  They had to get the hostages free before they attempted anything else.

            “My loyal subjects.”  Queen Jessica tried to push herself up to the front for the third time, supported by her ladies in waiting, Mindy, Savannah and Shakira.

            “Sit down.”  People yelled at her.

            “Sitty Downy!”  Lila yelled from her perch on her grandpa-scarecrow’s shoulder.  Several people sighed.  The fairy was becoming so cute!  Ginger, the Jaguar, decided to roar at the Queen.

            “Heads will roll!”  Queen Jessica threatened, but she sat at the roar of the cat, not wishing to upset the panther.  She looked disgusted with the whole proceeding, but she did not appear as if she would try to take over a fourth time.  Her ladies in waiting were very comforting, and the witches, Brittany, Nichole and Molly were also right there with soothing words.  Lila briefly wondered what the witches were up to, but such a thought flits across a typical fairy mind without much impact.

            “Of course, I’m not clever about such things.”  The Scarecrow said, sounding more and more like the real Scarecrow.  “But I know a way we can get to the roof of the offices without going down the halls.  If some of you made a distraction, there might be a way to get the hostages out.”

            Peter the Ninja and Jennifer the elf came in at that point.  Everyone turned to hear their report.  “The Queen and a dozen soldiers have set up on the auditorium stage.  The wizard with his funny black box is with them and the Captain, and her Count Severas guy with his goons are there as well.  There are six guards in the offices guarding the prisoners, but since scouting them out, they have also set guards on the outside doors and guards with barriers in the halls east and west of the auditorium.”  The Ninja bowed and the elf lifted his face back up, holding him by the chin.

            “I never realized your eyes slanted like that, Peter, you know, Asian looking.”  The elf said.

            “A match for your pointed ears.”  The ninja responded.  Jennifer could not tell, but she was fairly sure Peter was smiling beneath his mask.  She did feel her ears turn ever so slightly red.

            “People!”  Chris the knight, and Tyler, the NFL quarterback, restored order and silence.  The scarecrow then outlined his ideas while Lila got bored and looked around the room.  There was a Geisha setting up a tea service in one corner and a gypsy woman going into the fortune telling business in the opposite corner of the room.  The geeks had a third corner.  George was a real doctor, and Shirley was his nurse.  That could be useful if someone got hurt.  Ethan was a mad dentist.  Missing teeth was something she did not want to think about, but she supposed having him, even as a madman, was better than nothing.

            Meanwhile, Chef Brian – a rotund Chef Brian – had taken over the kitchen, and waitress Maria, who suddenly spoke perfect English, what could be discerned through the gum chewing, was taking an order from a Delta stewardess, a farm girl, and Snow White, who was identical to the Disney version except she was still black.  Lila shook her head.   She was feeling very confused, but then she was distracted by a sight near the kitchen door.  Nelson-Max Man and his no longer stuffed dog Maxamillian were sneaking off toward the kitchen and the food.  She zoomed over to cut them off, leaving a trail of golden fairy dust in her wake.

            “Max and Max!  You have to stay and help.”  Lila put one fist on her hip and wagged a finger at the two while she hovered in mid-air.

            “Uh-oh.  Snagged by Tinker Bell.”  Max Man said.

            “Indeed.  Max Man trapped by the glittering damsel.”

            “I am not Tinker Bell!”  Lila said, not quite sure what a glittering damsel was.  She put both of her fists on her hips and stomped her foot in mid air.  It actually made a snap!  “Would you stay and help for a cheeseburger?”  She had an idea.

            Max Man and Maxamillian looked at each other, but did not answer.  “OK.”  Lila said.  “How about two cheeseburgers?”

            “Two each?”  Max Man was bargaining.

            “Indeed.  Double enticements?”

            “Deal.”  Lila said, and before thinking too hard about what she was doing, she pulled out her wand and touched the air in front of Maxamillian and the air in front of Max Man.  The Cheeseburgers magically appeared.

            “Marvelous prestidigitation!”  Maxamillian shouted as the two scarfed down the treats.  Lila was in too much shock over what she had just done to notice.

            “Magic!”  Lila shouted.  “I just did magic!  Really for real!”  She shot around the room, shouting at everyone about her great accomplishment.  When she finally settled back on the Scarecrow’s shoulder, remembering that she was supposed to be listening to the plan, she had to catch her breath.

            “I heard.”  Grandpa said before she could shout in his straw ear.  “But now, Lila, you have to settle down.  You have to help me lead the group through the rafters.”

One Writer’s mid-week Writing Secrets 4: Read

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

             OK.  So I am off Twain for a while and I have moved on to Dickens with some great heaping teaspoons of Madeleine L’Engle.  At the beginning of the summer I was determined that this summer I was going to do reading-lite (great taste, less filling), and so it was all Eric Flint (& co.) and Harry Turtledove. 

            Then I promptly devoured Susan Wise Bauer’s The History of the Ancient World – a text with which my naturally argumentative mind could find very little fault.  (So much for reading-lite). 

            Then before Twain, I began to peruse C. S. Lewis, wondering when Dawntreader, the third movie might come out, and I hit on rereading some Charles Williams.  Williams (if you don’t know) was the one that Lewis and Tolkien and Sayers and the other inklings (generally) believed was the best writer among them… and good luck finding his works!

            So, what are you reading???

 

Writing Tip 4:

If you want to write, and especially if you want to write well, read.  Some have said that this is the single most important thing a writer can do.  I would not go that far, but near enough, and I would add that the library is fine but it is better if you buy the books the same way you hope people will buy yours!  (For God’s sake, don’t steal them off the internet).  So, read, and read the stuff that you know darn well is the good stuff too if you want to write good stuff.  We are what we eat after all.

Series: Tales of the Other Earth Tale: Halloween Story part 10 M/F Story

M G Kizzia 2 Comments

            The Queen sent a few soldiers down the east hall alongside the auditorium while she and her troops and prisoners walked down the west hall, toward the front door.  She paused when they came to the back-stage entrance, which was open.  She started out on to the stage to look, but the lights were off.

            “And how does one bring light into this place?”  She asked.

            Tom Deal frowned, but stepped over to the backstage bank of switches.  He lit up the stage, but kept the auditorium lights dimmed low.

            “Excellent.”  The Queen clapped her hands.  “By the door and with just the right atmosphere.”  The stage was set for a Middle School production of Romeo and Juliet.  The scenery had a medieval flavor to it all. 

            “But not suitable for prisoners.”  Captain Tor pointed out.

            “To be sure.”  The Queen nodded and they went back toward the front door where there were lights on in a different room.  It was the front office.  Someone, possibly Mary the secretary, alias the Wicked Witch, had been in and out the office earlier.  They unlocked the door, and Captain Tor took the key.  “Will this do?”  The Queen asked.

            The Captain looked around and nodded as he assigned six soldiers to the room; two by the door to the hall, two by the door to the outside, and two, one being a sergeant, to simply watch the adults and make sure they made no trouble.

            “I believe Barten-Cur may be persuaded to tell us what we wish to know, or if not, one of the others.”  Count Severas made the suggestion without exactly spelling out what he had in mind.

            “If it comes to that.”  The Queen did not dismiss the idea.  “Bring the servant and this one.”  She pointed to Gloria Finster.  “The woman appears to be a reasonable sort.”  She trooped out with the Wizard and Count Severas, the Count’s men escorting the prisoners, while Captain Tor began to assign men to guard the outside of the building against any attempted escapes.

            As they walked back to the stage, Barten-Cur looked around carefully, dragging his feet a little to get to the back of the line.  When they reached the stage door, he decided to take his chances.  He let the last bit of magic float off down the hall.  It was a light violet bubble, which soon picked up speed and burst into a hundred little bubbles.  These shot off in every direction as the Wizard came running back from the stage, still holding his box with the crystal.

            “What was that?”  He asked, as the last few mini-bubbles zoomed by above his head.

            “The on button.”   Barten-Cur said, and he hoped he was doing the right thing.

                                                            ————

            Lila dropped the microphone and it clattered loudly against the gym floor.  She couldn’t help it.  She was suddenly nine inches tall and hovering, thanks to her fairy wings, four feet above the ground.  It happened to her all at once, perhaps because she had the magic in her to resonate with the spell; but for everyone else, the change came more gradually.  Almost without thinking, Lila flew up to a height where she could see what was going on.  She saw the tiny purple bubbles of magic slow down and float around the room as if looking for someone to touch.  As they touched, she saw what happened.

            Jennifer actually got a few inches shorter, but her ears became real, and her face aged to a more grow-up look, and changed a bit to give real credence to her status as an elf and woman warrior.  Ginger fell to her hands, and her arms lengthened, or her legs shortened as her nose began to extend and her whiskers moved to her puffy upper lip.  It looked like a difficult transformation, and Ginger opened her mouth to try and say something, but her voice choked on the words and they turned into something of a roar.  That gave Lila a good look at Ginger’s teeth, and that made her look away, except that as she did, she saw Ginger’s danskin fall away, and a great, black tail push it’s way out from behind.  The tail immediately began to twitch to indicate that the newly formed panther was agitated, but Ginger lay down on the floor and licked a paw as if she was seeking to calm herself.

            Chris grew up into a handsome, blond knight.  Peter, the Ninja, hardly changed a bit, except his eyes took on an Asian shape and his movements no longer contained any eighth grade awkwardness.  Mary and Eddie became Red Rayder and Princess Ashanti, and luckily, they changed to real persons and not flat cartoons from a video screen.  Then Lila saw a very grown-up pirate Jordan with a real eye-patch staring at a grown-up pirate Morgan with a real scar on her cheek.  She watched Jordan catch Morgan up in an embrace and plant his lips against hers in a real grown-up kiss, which Morgan willingly returned.

            “Ew!”  Lila said in her new fairy voice.  “No need to get all kissy-face.”  Then she wondered why she said that.

            “Listen up.”  The Scarecrow had picked up the microphone.  “Pay attention.” 

            Lila fluttered down to Ginger and looked the cat in the eye.  The cat had the most perfect cat-like expression about her face, so Lila was not sure.  “Are you still Ginger in there?”  Lila asked.  The cat said nothing.  “I would be very sorry if you weren’t Ginger anymore.  Please nod your head if you are still Ginger.”  The cat nodded slightly, and then licked her forearm.  “Oh, I’m glad.  I’m going to believe in you now.”  Lila said, and she came forward to hug the cat, but the cat was too big.  Then Lila had a thought.  “Can I ride on your back?”  The cat shook her head.  That was a definite no.

            “I am going to believe what has happened to us has been for us to do something about this predicament.  We cannot leave the others in the hands of enemy soldiers, and we have to get free from this place, if we can.”  The Scarecrow had readily grasped what had happened to them all, and he knew that it was especially important to contain this invasion to the school.  The worst thing would be letting these soldiers loose on an unsuspecting community.  “Now, I am going to let the music start again so they think we have gone back to the party.  Some of you will be no help to us, but some will.  First, however, I think we need to guard the door.  You there!  Space Gladiator!”

            “Adam, I think.”  Jennifer said.  She was squinting with her elf eyes as if seeing something no human eyes could perceive.  It was the young man the Coach wanted on the football team, and he would want him even more now if he saw the size of the man with his head sticking up above all the others. 

            “Yes, Spaceman.”  The Scarecrow got his attention, and with that, several people backed away to give the Space Gladiator plenty of room.  “Watch the door and keep the Truscans out of here until we get straight what we are doing.”

            “Do you speak for the Emperor of the known worlds?”  The Gladiator asked.  “I take orders from no man, least of all a man of straw.”

            Lila was back by then, and she knew that the Space Gladiator was disparaging her Grandfather.  As a fairy, she no longer had the presence of mind to wonder how a scarecrow could be her Grandfather, but he was, and the Gladiator was not helping, even if he was the hero of the movie.  She zoomed up to the man’s face with a determined look scrunched up on her own face and her little fists planted firmly on her hips.  “Want to argue about it?”  She shouted.

            The Gladiator paused.  He seemed mesmerized for a minute.  His hand came up, but he did not touch.  It was more like a frozen man warming himself for a moment by a roaring flame.  He bowed his head.  “For the embodiment of life, I will do as requested.”  He turned with a flare of his cape and marched to the door, followed by Tasha, his own, personal cheerleader.

            “We’ll keep the music going.”  Owen, the gangster came up, his moll, Terry, clinging to his arm and chewing her gum to death.  Rapper Bob was with him, and Celeste, who most recognized as a great Rock Star.  Indeed, Celeste had to push behind the equipment table and seek the protection of the gangster and the big rapper to keep from being mobbed by the crowd.

            At that point, Queen Jessica came up and wanted the microphone.  “My subjects.”  She tried to speak, but Sir Chris and the two pirates held her back for the moment.

            “But these are my subjects.”  Jessica insisted, sincerely believing this to be the truth.  “They should be doing what I say, not what this straw man says.”

            “Aye, your majesty.”  Jordan said with a bow.  “But there are events this evening which may upset your delicate sensibilities.  By your grace, let us deal with these unpleasant necessities.”

            “Back off.”  Morgan said with a snicker, and Jessica backed into the protective circle of her ladies in waiting.

            “Pirates.”  She almost spat.  “Are all of my subjects in rebellion?”

            Before Jessica got any further, the scarecrow quickly turned back to the assembly.  “I want the color guard, you football players and any superheroes that might be about, oh, and the medical people in the back, there.  You better come along as well, though I hope you will not be needed.  Lila, bring your friends; but I want the rest of you to have fun, for now.  Make them think there is a real party going on in here.  To the cafeteria.”  He barely got that last word out before Rapper Bob took over.

            “Oh, there is a real party going on.”  The Rapper said, and he turned up the volume, loud.

            “But they should be listening to me!  The people should be doing what I say!”  Queen Jessica was miffed.  The witches, Brittany, Nichole and Molly, all hag ugly, came up making the most sympathetic noises.

            “Majesty, not all are in rebellion.”  Brittany said while all three witches bowed regally.  “But your nerves must be shot by the turn of events.  Do let us serve you as you ought to be served, my Queen.  Allow us this small thing, to make a tonic for you that it may fortify you and calm your stresses, so you may take up the responsibility of ruling this great kingdom with renewed strength.”

            “Yes.”  Queen Jessica responded slowly.  “I could use a tonic at this time.  I thank you for your devotion to my person.  You may do this thing.”  Brittany bowed again, turned, and smiled to her sister witches in a way which was not at all nice, and they led the Queen and her ladies toward the cafeteria where they could find what they needed to work on the tonic.

Series: Tales of the Other Earth Tale: Halloween Story part 9 M/F Story

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

             “Here’s the one.”  The Wizard suddenly announced.  He was standing in front of Barten-Cur.  “But, oh.”  The Wizard looked up from his crystal.  “It isn’t the girl or the Princess Arosa.”

            The Queen stepped forward.  “Well?  Explain yourself.”

            “Barten-Cur, Majesty.”  Barten-Cur said with a genuine bow.  “Family retainer to the house of Nova for many generations.”

            “Barten-Cur.”  The Wizard said with some surprise, a life coming into his eyes which had not previously been present.  He stroked his beard.  “I have heard of you.”

            “And where is Lila?  Where is Arosa?”  The Queen came straight to the point.

            Barten-Cur shrugged.  “Alas, her highness is not present at this time.  As for the young girl, I cannot say.”

            The Queen looked around the room.  She was sure Lila was there among the children, but there was no way of singling her out by sight, even if there were no masks and make-up in the way.  “Wizard?”  She asked.

            The Wizard simply shook his head.  “There is too much lingering magic in the air, and with the interference in this world, I could not guarantee to find her even if each young girl presented themselves for personal examination, and that would take all night.”

            “Some wizard.”  The Count scoffed.

            “Quiet.”  The Queen was thinking.

            “If I may suggest.”  Barten-Cur raised his voice, humbly.  “My Lady has promised to come before the party is over.  That would be in a mere two hours.  Perhaps you would care to wait?”  He knew enough to want the soldiers away from the children, or at least settled in to wait, but after that he would have to think of what to do.

            The Queen nodded.  “Captain Tor.  I want all doors guarded.  No one must leave this building, and to be sure we have the cooperation of the children, we will be taking some hostages.”

            “Now wait a minute.”  Principal Barlow stepped forward.  “The children are innocent here.  Who are you to come barging in here threatening children.  I have never heard of anything so despicable.”

            Count Severas winced at the words, and the Wizard ducked a little expecting the Queen’s explosion.  They were genuinely surprised at her response.  “Quite right.”  She said.  “We did not come here to frighten children or to hurt them.”  She turned to her people.  “Take the adults hostage, and Captain Tor, be sure none of the children leave the building.  When Princess Arosa arrives, I want her brought to me.”  She turned and looked around the crowd.  “Children.  You may have your masquerade ball, only for your own safety, please do not try to leave the building or my soldiers may have to hurt you after all.”  The curious way she smiled as she said those words made even the least among them understand that she was not joking.  She spun around and headed back toward the door by which she had entered.  The Wizard and Barten-Cur followed.  The teachers were less inclined.

            “Now wait a minute.”  Principal Barlow began again, but Count Severas stepped up and slapped the man with enough strength to knock him to the ground.  Even as swords came out to force the issue, Coach Beemer wanted to punch the Count’s lights out; but with a look at old Ms Finster and young Ms Addams, he kept his fist to himself.  The teachers got escorted out between soldiers, and when the door closed there was a moment of panic among some of the children.

            “Lila?”

            “Grandpa!”  Lila shouted and threw her arms around the man.  Wendel Carter straightened up as well as he could.  He had gotten stiff standing still for some time.

            “I hid in the corner with the other scarecrow.”  He said.  “It will be all right.”

            “I’m scared.”  Lila admitted.  “They are here for me and Mama.”

            Wendel understood and could not help nodding.  “But everything will be fine.”  He insisted.

            “But what can we do, sir?”  Chris, the knight asked.

            “Ninja.”  Peter suggested, but it was not funny.  What could a bunch of twelve and thirteen year olds do against trained soldiers?

            “First we do this.”  Wendel Carter said, and he led his granddaughter to the microphone, and all of her friends followed.  He told Lila what to say, but he let her speak to the crowd, imagining that his adult voice might be picked up by the Queen or her troops.

            “Attention please.  Gather round.”  Lila spoke, and most of the kids readily responded; glad that someone was taking charge.  Lila saw Brittany and her witches to one side.  Jessica and her ladies in waiting were on the far other side, and she briefly wondered what Jessica would say if she knew that Lila was a real Princess.  Tyler Hamm and his football players took up the middle.  To their right, beside Brittany’s witches, the ROTC crowd was dressed in marine and navy uniforms except for Aaron, who came dressed like an old sea captain, and the seventh graders, Warren and Kate, who were dressed like black belt karate champions.  On the other side of the football team, beside Jessica and her ladies in waiting, there were the Gangstas, the enemies of ROTC.  Owen was actually dressed like a gangster and Terry was dressed like his moll.  There was Rapper Bob, and Celeste, dressed like a rock star.  There was also Kyle, the sex fiend, dressed appropriately as a pimp.  Far in the back, and last of all, there were the eighth grade geeks.  George was a doctor and Shirley a nurse.  Ethan looked to be dressed like a dentist, though perhaps a mad one.  And Lucy, the class clown was with them, dressed most appropriately of all, as a clown.  Beyond that, there were a few more eighth graders and a whole host of seventh graders, most of whom Lila did not know by name.

            Once they were gathered and quiet, though the whispers in the little groups never really stopped, Lila began.  “The question has been asked.  What can we do in this crisis?  Is there anything we can do to warn Mrs. Carter or help the teachers?”  Lila deliberately did not say, “warn my mom.”

            “Who wants to help teachers?”  Someone asked as a joke.  Only a few people thought it was funny.

            “Or would it be best for us to just stay here and do as we are told.  I don’t want, I mean, the superintendent doesn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

            “I can’t see how these poor kids won’t be changed by this experience, though.”  Wendel Carter mumbled to himself and then the most remarkable thing happened.

One Writer’s Writing Secrets 3: Something to Say

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

I am still enjoying Mark Twain.  Love him or hate him, the man could write, and more importantly, in the American tradition, he could tell a good story:  Tom Sawyer at home and abroad with the Tramp and the Innocents (roughing it or otherwise on the equator), Life on the Mississippi, The Prince and the Pauper, Pudd’nhead Wilson, and the great Connecticut Yankee which I believe he named just to see how many times he could find Connecticut misspelled in the reviews.

            Motive for writing in the first place is as difficult as trying to pin down a motive for murder (a close kin in some cases).  I think, though, Twain was on to something with the notice he gave at the beginning of Huckleberry Finn:

NOTICE

Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.

BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR

Per G. G., Chief of Ordnance.

            Writers want to say something – at least most have something to say.  Some do write mainstream drivel in a sort of stream of consciousness (Zzzz); but I believe most want their views about life, liberty and the pursuit to be heard.  (Unlike the Blues Brothers, they may not be on a mission from God, but still…  And whether or not what is said is worth listening to is another debate).  But whenever a writer focuses in on what they are trying to say instead of on the story, the writing is lost, abandon ship!

            Mark Twain was first of all a storyteller.  All the great writers were.  Even a socially conscious writer like Dickens first told a good story. 

 

Writing Tip 3:

I cannot speak for the plot because that might be a handy thing for a story to have; but as for motive and moral, I recommend not thinking about them at all.  Yes, I believe every piece of writing should have something to say, but while in the writing process, I recommend just focusing on telling a good story, and I believe the motive/moral will shine through without help, thank you very much, and maybe some other things not intended will shine through as well, things which may turn out to be pretty good!  (I hadn’t thought of that).  We can call it stream of unconsciousness writing.

Series: Tales of the Other Earth Tale: Halloween Story part 8 M/F Story

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            “In here, your majesty.”  The grizzled old man said, holding his box with the crystal close to his face and staring hard as if seeing something in the glittering stone that no other eyes could perceive.  “There was much magic present for a moment, and then all at once it was over, like the undoing of a half-woven spell.”

            The Queen nodded and turned to her troops.  “Be on your guard, Captain Tor.”  She said.  “We stumbled innocently into that hedge of warning, so at least someone knows we are coming.  And Count Severas.”  She turned to the man who was dressed like a sixteenth century dandy complete with gold-hilted saber at his side.  “We are not here to fight these people.  We only want the girl.”

            The Count nodded, as if giving a slight bow to his Queen, but his eyes betrayed other thoughts in his mind.

            “Wizard!”  The Queen called and the grizzled old man came to her, showing far more respect in his bow than the Count had shown.  “Are you sure?”  This woman was demanding.

            The Wizard looked around at the Count, Captain Tor and several of the soldiers, but he saw no support in any of them.  “Majesty.”  He hedged.  “I was told there was no magic in this world, but there is much interference in the atmosphere.  The Princess and her daughter should have been easy to locate, sticking out in the midst of the crowd like a goat among sheep, but it has not been so.”  The Queen’s look hardened.  The Wizard winced a little.  “I am reasonably sure there is magic active in this place, but of the source and person, I cannot honestly say.”

            “Are there no other sources?”  The Queen clearly wanted some assurance.

            The Wizard shook his head, slowly.  “I have picked up something, but it is some distance from here, and I am not certain.  There is much interference in the atmosphere, but of this place, I am certain, though who or what may be responsible, I cannot say.”

            The Queen nodded.  She signaled the soldiers and motioned for Captain Tor to precede her while she and the Count and her Wizard brought up the rear.

                                                            ————

            Mister Deal finally got the music turned down.  “Fire Alarm?”  He asked above many voices which were asking the same thing.

            “Hold on.  Hold on.”  The baby Principal was saying.  He stepped over to the music riser.  “Hold on.”  He said to the squeal of feedback as he turned on the microphone.  Mister Deal quickly adjusted the volume.  “That’s not the fire alarm or any other bell I know.”  The class bell in the school was really a loud buzzer.  “Don’t panic.  I am sure it is nothing to be concerned about and there is a simple explanation.”

            With that, the explanation for the bell entered the room.  They were soldiers, dressed in late medieval garb, and they spread themselves around the gym, surrounding the middle school students.  Clearly, the soldiers were surprised to find so many children and even more surprised to find them dressed up in costumes, though they hardly recognized most of the characters they were pretending to be.  An old man with a limp and a young one with gold braid and a swagger entered next, and then came the woman.  She was dressed in a gown that fitted her shapely figure, but her hair was gray, indicating the fact that she was a good bit older than she might have wanted to appear.  The woman had deep-set, but very active eyes.  She was clearly a woman of power, used to being obeyed without question, and she was presently speaking to the soldiers in a tongue that she assumed no one knew.  But Barten-Cur knew the words, and so did Wendel Carter.  Wendel slid up to the scarecrow in the corner and did his best to blend into the decorations.

            Finally, the woman, who was evidently in charge, turned to the slack-jawed crowd and spoke in English.  “All right.  Where is she?”

            Principal Barlow paused a minute before he responded into the microphone.  “Where is who?”

                                                            ————

            Arosa sipped her coffee and looked at David.  David still hardly knew what to say.  He had accepted her story.  He could not reasonably do otherwise; but it was not every day a person had undeniable evidence that there were not only other worlds filled with other, intelligent life in the universe, but your girlfriend, to say the least, was one of those other… People?

            “After the rebellion failed, my Mother-in-law made overtures of peace with the Empire.  I do not blame her.  It was what she had to do in the lost cause, and I suppose it was wise, after all, that she stayed away from any hint of rebellion from the beginning.  The Emperor was willing to allow for that, because he was so preoccupied in the North and West.  That much was true.”

            “Politics.”  David said.  “Bad as the school system.”

            “Oh, not that bad.”  Arosa said with a smile.  “But bad enough.”

            “But it was not safe for you and your baby.”  David understood.

            Arosa confirmed and shook her head.  “Who knows if we will ever be able to go home again?”  She looked sad for a moment before she shouted.  “Ouch!”

            “Umph.”  The fat man grunted at her as he got off her wing and headed back to his seat.

            A tear came to Arosa’s eye as she reached back and pulled her wing forward.  It was completely resilient and flexible and not easily broken, but the foot and shoe of the clumsy fat man was painful.  A few more tears came as Arosa stroked her wing like a wounded bird.

            “Hey!”  David shouted at the man.  “At least apologize you klutz.”  He was angry, partly because he knew the wings were real, and partly because he was really feeling for the unfairness of Arosa, and Lila’s exile.

            The fat man looked at his little wife and pulled out a wad of money.  “Here.”  He said, throwing a five-dollar bill in David’s direction.  “Buy your woman a new costume.”  He laughed, thinking he was funny.  David hardly clenched his fist before striking the fat man in the jaw, knocking him right out of the chair.

            The man got up screaming mad, but he was a stranger in town while David was the High School Principal and Arosa was the Middle School Librarian.  There were three farmers and two merchants from town who grabbed the fat man and showed him the door.  The man’s poor wife got up and she did lean over to Arosa to quietly apologize.

            “I’ll be all right.”  Arosa said, and since no one else was looking, their eyes all being focused on the struggle at the front door, she spread her wing and fluttered it a minute.  “He didn’t break anything.”

            The woman’s eyes got big.  She screamed and ran after her husband.

Series: Tales of the Other Earth Tale: Halloween Story part 7 M/F Story

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

 

            Lila and her friends sat at MacDonald’s and talked about nothing in particular, but with hardly a breath between them.  They were all feeling a little curious and somewhat self-conscious.  Apart from the occasional private parties, there were not many chances in Middle School for these kinds of social interactions between boys and girls.  It was all still new enough to embarrass, intrigue, and touch a sense of secret desire, which for the most part was still deeply hidden inside.  Of course, they were all too cool to admit that they did not know everything about it all.

            Jennifer, who was dressed like an elf from Lord of the Rings or some on-line video game, pointed ears and all, nodded toward the door.  Bobby and Donna actually came together to the restaurant, though they got out of separate cars.  Bobby even asked if he could sit at Donna’s table before he sat.  Ginger, who was dressed like a cat which she claimed was a panther, shook her head and pointed in the opposite direction where Tom and Rachel, a couple of vampires, were sitting touching hands.

            “Where are the boys?”  Morgan the pirate wondered, but even as she spoke, Mary and Eddie, alias Red and the Princess, came in and got in line.  Red Rayder got a number one, but the Princess only wanted a few french fries.  And the rest of the boys were not far behind.  Chris was dressed like a medieval knight.  Peter was dressed like a ninja, and just like in the library, they came over and sat near Jennifer and Lila, but not too near.  Nelson came in his Max Man costume, a little rubber Maxamillian in his hands, and Jordan came also as a pirate and sat beside Morgan the pirate with a smile.  Things were heating up there nicely, Lila thought, with a smile of her own.

            Chris and Peter were all eyes as Lila shifted to cross her legs in the other direction.  She had chosen the fairy costume in part because it allowed her to show off her nice, long legs by wearing a skirt that was normally much too short for school.

            “I don’t know what it is, but ever since I got dressed, all I can think about is food.”  Nelson joked as he sat with two orders of nuggets.  “Isn’t that right, Max?”

            “Indubitably!”  Nelson finished, giving voice to his rubberized sidekick.

            Everyone enjoyed the show, even if no one laughed.  Then every one was quiet, especially the girls, curiously enough.  Perhaps they had already talked themselves out earlier.  More likely, they were watching, wondering, considering things to which the boys were oblivious.  Chris finally spoke up.

            “We better get going.”  Peter stood up with him and this prompted everyone to move.  They were going to the dance together, not like dating couples, but sort of all in a group.  It was safer that way.

                                                            ————                                                                                

            When Barten-Cur got back to the school, he walked the whole perimeter, around the playground, the football field, the back of the baseball diamond and to the front door.  He set a simple magical hedge the whole way around so that anyone with a weapon, a sword, a knife or a real bow, would set off a bell inside the school loud enough to be heard, wherever he was.  Then he returned to the gym to find it decorated and deserted.  It was no trouble adding his potion to the punch bowl, but a little harder to stir it in without disturbing the slices of orange that floated on top.  He felt he was as ready as he could be.  If they came, he could act.  If they did not come, no one would be the wiser.

            While he waited, Barten had another thought.  Some of these children would come as all sorts of devils, evil creatures, monsters and even dead people.  He would have to siphon them off at the start.  They would not do at all.  He would have to be careful, he thought, imagining that Arosa still might yell at him even if he was following the rules, so he set a spell by the entrance designed like a spider’s web to catch any such evil arrivals.  He wondered briefly why any parents would allow their children to dress in such a manner – representing evil things; but then he never had a wife or children so he really did not know.

            The teachers began to arrive by quarter of six.  Principal Barlow was dressed as a baby and his secretary, like the Wicked Witch.  Tom Deal said he was Mozart, and Ms Gloria Finster came as a sixties hippie child.  She had a flower painted on her aged cheek.  Coach Beemer trotted to the door in red tights, a red mask and a red cape.  “The Masked Marvel,” he called himself.  He was supposed to be a professional wrestler, and Barten-Cur at least knew what that was.  He watched wrestling when he could, but he did not recall any Masked Marvel.

            The children started arriving after that, but Barten-Cur stayed up front with his eyes open, in case his spider web missed anyone.  To be sure, he did not understand what some of the costumes were supposed to be and so he could not be sure he got all that he should.  But then, he could undo the magic easily enough if needed.  Still, he took the obvious ones so it would not be needed for them.

            Ms Addams came in a long dress and claimed she was Jane Austin, whoever that was, and Mister Johnson came in a suit.  “I’m dressed as a social studies teacher.”  He told the custodian.  “That is scary enough for these kids.”  Barten-Cur shrugged. 

            Lila and her gang came together.  Barten was afraid, with so many at once, one might slip passed his net.  He looked carefully, but he did not see anything worth catching.  Lila said, “Hi.”  And then she got whispers from a cat and a girl with pointed ears and a fake bow and arrows.

            Ms Ramirez came as a flamenco dancer, her seventh graders trailing after her like so many baby ducks.  Mister Gross in a white suit and Ms Duncan in her dancing dress were the last teachers to arrive.  They were the disco couple, whatever disco was.  Barten-Cur did not even know they were a couple, but that was what they said.

            When it looked like nearly everyone had arrived, it was about six-thirty by then, Barten-Cur went up to room 204.  There were two ghosts, one skeleton, a couple of movie monstrosities that he did not recognize well enough to name, a Grim Reaper, a thing that called itself “Scream,” a Devil boy and a Devil girl and two Zombies, one with an axe in his head and the other in a suit with an arrow through his head who claimed he was a dead lawyer.  They believed there was going to be a contest and prizes for the scariest costume.  They were arguing about who might win when Barten-Cur locked them in.

                                                            ————        

            The music was just loud enough to prevent talking without shouting.  There was not much dancing going on for a dance.  Lila and her friends sat on some chairs beside a table while the boys walked around the room, presumably looking at the decorations.  They all had punch.  Ms Finster was very good about making sure that everyone, absolutely everyone, got some.  It was really very good, and for most it was also something to do.

            Lila’s Grandpa came over, but only to say hi and then leave them alone.  He was the Scarecrow, and Jennifer the elf complimented the outfit, and Ginger the panther agreed that it was very well done.

            “I should have had more time to work on the make-up.”  Wendel Carter mused, but he thanked the girls for the kind words and moved on, pausing only to examine the real scarecrow set up in the corner of the gym.

            Coach Beemer was getting another tray of cookies from the cafeteria when he heard a knock on the cafeteria window.  There were two students outside.  He reluctantly opened the door for them.

            “You should have come in the front.”  Coach Beemer said.

            “Long walk.”  Tom the vampire responded.

            “Thanks.”  Rachel the vampire thought some gratitude was appropriate,

            The Masked Marvel frowned beneath his mask, but he went for the cookies.  Tom and Rachel went for some of the last of the punch.  It was not much after that when the bell went off and Barten-Cur gasped.  “God help us.  They’re here.”  In a moment, a soft violet light filled the gym and beyond, seeping out like a mist beneath the doors and through the walls.  It filled the cafeteria behind the gym and the auditorium in the front of the school, swept around the books in the library and the files in the office.  It even filled room 204, though it would have no effect in that place for lack of punch, and when it was done, it disappeared as if it had never been.

One Writer’s Writing Secrets 2: Finding your Voice

M G Kizzia 2 Comments

            I just finished rereading Huckleberry Finn, so if I break out in a twang, please bear with me.  (I ain’t agwyne do’t if I can hep it).  Dialect is a bear, and not recommended – unless it is who you are, and you know the dialect like the proverbial back of your hand (and your spelling is consistent).

            Allow me to share a bit of family folklore that floated down to me from my writer brother in Alaska.  It concerns a person named Tom (not Sawyer, but of the same type as I hear tell), though how true the story is, I cannot say.

            Tom went to the University of Michigan for one semester where he had a Freshman English professor who said something like this:

            “Tom.  You have a wonderful voice when you speak.  It is lively and very different from the dry papers you have been turning in.  You know, I believe you have the potential to be a good writer, but you have to stop trying to write the way you think it is supposed to be written.  Instead, I want you to try writing in a way that is most natural to you.  That is the secret to good writing.  Try writing the way you talk and it will be much better.”

            Now, Tom decided that was good advice; but if his best writing was simply writing the way he talked, and since he already knew how to talk, he also decided there was no more to be learned from that institution; so he dropped out and wandered his way up to Alaska where he took a job hosting a national radio show for NPR and writing just the way he talked, and though I don’t want to give everything away, the end of the story is if you ever go traveling across this country, I am sure he will “leave a light on for ya.”

Writing Tip 2: 

For most of us our talk can get pretty sloppy and might not be a good guide, but on principle, don’t worry about the way good writing is supposed to be writ!  Write the way that is most natural and comfortable for you.  That is your voice, and it will invariably be much better than imitating someone else.